Hope
by cathrl
Summary: Even in the middle of war, there can be time for some optimism.


This one is actually new online! Previously published only in Bird Scramble, which is a paper zine (yes, they do still exist!)

Set shortly after Resurrection / Regulations.

 **Hope**

"Fun interview?" Jason asked as his commander dropped onto the sofa beside him, still in birdstyle.

Mark sighed. "Oh yeah. My favourite. You'd think by now the reporters would have figured out that we're not going to tell them where I've been for the past year. I was seriously tempted to start using your tricks."

"Feel free, if it works for you." Deadpan implausible answers had kept him sane through the press interviews that command involved, and most of them had been about the Eagle's current assignment. A couple had made headlines, early on. Then the reporters had got wise - but they carried on asking the question. Which had been fine by him. Anderson always kept these things short - four, five questions at most. If one of them was predetermined, that made his life simpler.

This was the first time Mark had been in front of the press since his return - and it wouldn't have been the questions that were worrying him. The press conference format was always the same. The interviewee walked in, up three steps onto the podium, and walked out at the end. Until a couple of weeks ago, Mark would have needed a stick to do it at all. Even today there had been a last minute assessment by three specialists as to whether video analysis would show that he was still far from fully fit. No way did they want that to go public. No way could they refuse to allow TV cameras in without it being a huge red flag.

Mark was a fine actor - of course they'd passed him as fit to do it. Jason often couldn't tell how much the other still struggled either, not for a few steps, not when Mark was trying to hide it. But the fact he was still in birdstyle now was telling. They'd always had a choice in how birdstyle was set up, a tradeoff between flexibility and support. Mark's was currently set to give him as much support as possible from the waist down.

 _He's walking unaided again. Stop finding fault._

"So what did they ask?" That was Princess, curled up in the armchair with a Spectran novel.

"Apart from where I've been? They'd like to know how Jason feels about being demoted - that New York Times guy is convinced he should have been given command of Force Two. The usual nonsense about my love life. Whether we're all going to retire to snooze in the sun and leave Force Two to get on with it. Oh, and what we think we'll be doing in ten years. At least he had the grace to say 'assuming the war's long since over and we've won'."

"What did you tell them about that?" Tiny asked. In years gone by, he'd have been eating just out of habit. He was still lounging in a chair, but these days it was a glass of water in his hand rather than a spaceburger - and he'd just finished a table tennis marathon with Keyop.

"Nothing they couldn't make up for themselves. I want to be a test pilot, Jason wants to win NASCAR races, Tiny wants to retire to Florida and have six kids -"

"Hey!"

"Princess plans to become a prima ballerina, and Keyop is all set to become an Olympic diver."

"Princess would make a better diver," said Keyop, adding his latest table tennis victory to the board over the table.

"Yeah, but then I'd have to think up something new for you. I guess I could just swap the two of you over?"

Keyop digested it briefly, and then growled. At least one of the celebrity magazines was convinced that the Swallow was in fact female. Keyop had never been happy about it. Not even when Anderson pointed out that it made his cover extra secure.

"So," said Tiny, "what if we could answer for real?"

"I'd still tell them nonsense," Jason said.

"Okay...what if we wanted to answer for real? I mean, what _do_ you think you'll be doing in ten years with the war long since over and we've won?"

So many things he wished he could do. For the first time, Jason considered that in ten years he might be too old for some of them.

"Wouldn't be NASCAR."

"Which is why that's what I say." Mark had removed helmet and gloves, though Jason suspected he'd need the additional support of birdstyle to make it back to his room without using the stick, which would be at least slightly less obvious if he didn't detransmute in the meantime. "What then, Jase? Rally? Indycar?"

"Formula One." That was the big multinational event, the one he couldn't possibly get into at the moment because, no matter how good he was, it was a full time commitment. "And get a maths degree - a real one, not that faked-up one I had for the Oxford mission. And publish some of the jump-theory we're barely allowed to write down at the moment, just to spite all the people who think I'm a brain dead combat monster. And I want a house."

"You could have a house now," Princess said.

"Sure, but I don't have time to run one." And it wasn't just a house he wanted - it was a big house, with plenty of space in and around it. Space for a family. Not that he was going to share that particular hope for the future with anyone.

"I'd like kids," said Princess looking at nobody in particular. "A house in the countryside, maybe by the sea. And I'd like to teach - probably at the Academy. I hope there's still an Academy even after the war. We'll still want to have an interstellar flight program. But... I don't think I'll be an active part of it." There was more than a hint of unhappiness in her tone. Another childhood dream gone.

Keyop was oblivious. "I will be. Commander Ivanov sounds good. Exploration ship. Looking for new life forms. Got to be intelligent life out there somewhere which doesn't have two arms, two legs and a head. Guess I might need a degree first - exobiology, maybe?"

"Shock me," said Tiny. "Keyop wants to go find giant bugs. Me? Florida sounds good, and how did you know it was six kids I wanted? You weren't in the canteen yesterday when everyone was discussing it."

Jason glanced sideways as casually as he could. Mark's face was a picture of horror.

"I'm joking - though I do like kids. It was always going to be medicine, but now I'm not sure. I like flying. I like the flight instructing, even when the fighter jocks look down their noses at me. I figure they wouldn't do that if they saw my real rating list."

"The one with 'Phoenix' at the top? They wouldn't need to get that far. Tiny, if they even guessed who you are..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Hence why I don't get to instruct on the big iron." He shrugged. "But in ten years? I'd like to be teaching the next generation of Phoenix pilots. While you're teaching the next generation of G-1 pilots, I guess."

"I don't know." Mark sounded uncertain enough that Jason glanced at him, not casually this time. "I really don't know. Maybe. Or Team One if they're looking for a lead pilot, or the Red Rangers - they might need some help to re-form. Or International Rescue, if they're ever recruiting? I really can't see that far ahead except that I want it to involve flying. Family? Kids? A life after the war? I want those things too. I just can't see how we get from here to there."

"You don't have to," said Tiny.

"That's the thing. I do. It won't just happen. Sooner or later, there will be a chance and I'll have to take it to make it happen."

"Mark," said Jason carefully, "are you happy to have command back?"

Mark turned deliberately and looked him in the eye. "Yes. Beyond happy. Doesn't mean there isn't a shedload of responsibility, and a lot of work to do."

"And we're going to do it." Princess stood up smoothly and came over, and Keyop and Tiny joined her. "All of us together. We've earned a future. Let's go get it."

She put her hand out, and they all reached for it and held it for a long silent moment. No counts, no taglines, no team shout. Just a simple grasp of hands, five together. A promise. Hope for better things to come.


End file.
